


what we’re made to be

by firefliesandstarlight



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, M/M, Yes., but it was worth it ok, comments and kudos but also comments are greatly appreciated :D, did i ignore the last two episodes of season 1?, here you go, i have homework i need to be doing, im always looking to improve, no beta we die like witchers, oh yeah! this is my first multi-chapter fic so please let me know what you think, this is my 3rd witcher fic, unfortunately i procrastinate by writing fics so uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefliesandstarlight/pseuds/firefliesandstarlight
Summary: Never did Geralt think he would lose favor with his bard.Royals, sure. Those fuckers in the taverns who only paid him after a lot of musical prodding, definitely.But not Jaskier.So how was Geralt ever going to get him back?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 168





	1. regrets and monster guts and geralt

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically a canon compliant au where i ignore episodes 7 and 8 of the witcher season 1 so that geralt and jaskier can reunite after geralt realizes some things 
> 
> i have no regrets

Never did Geralt think he would lose favor with his bard. 

Royals, sure. Those fuckers in the taverns who pay him but only after a lot of prodding from Jaskier, definitely. 

But not Jaskier. 

He was not exactly sure why he had shattered, on that mountaintop, after slaying a dragon but not really. It had been  _ epic _ , as Jaskier would say— a tale of true woes, of heartbreak, of heroes, of reuniting those long torn apart. He should have been elated, been  _ proud _ . 

But that wasn’t what he was made to be, so he wasn’t. 

And he knew exactly why he had done what he did, said what he said. 

Witchers are, almost by definition, loners. Ask anyone, literally anyone, even a random peasant you pull off the street, and they will agree. Witchers work alone, live alone, and ultimately, they will die alone. 

Jaskier was different. 

He was not there one day, and then the next, he was. Stuck to Geralt’s side like a bur in Roach’s mane. Sure, maybe the chatter had been annoying at the beginning, but Geralt grew used to it. He might have even—though he’d have to kill you if he told you, because Jaskier had a way of finding things out— _ liked _ spending time with the bard. 

It was like having a friend. 

They parted ways every winter. Twenty-two years they had travelled together, and Geralt knew the pattern like the back of his hand. Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt, and Geralt made the trek to Kaer Morhen. And Geralt loved his family, loved coming back and seeing that everyone was alive and mostly well, save for a few new scars, but he couldn’t help but miss Jaskier those cold months. 

And now it appeared as though he would be missing Jaskier for the rest of his life. 

The job continued, of course. 

After Jaskier left, Geralt did his best to move on. He had other shit happening, and besides, Jaskier could take care of himself. Geralt was half-convinced he was part fae or something, the way he got everyone to like Geralt while he sang. If Jaskier could do  _ that _ , then he could do anything. 

Geralt found himself in a town not far from where he and Jaskier had initially met. The locals were complaining of a particularly nasty graveir wreaking havoc in their cemetery, and signed Geralt up to take care of it. 

Fun. 

It wasn’t a particularly difficult fight. Geralt almost felt bad for the dumb creature, but then again, it had almost killed him. Several times. Plus a couple people from the town. 

He felt a little less bad. 

If Jaskier had been there, he would’ve written a ballad. 

Instead, Geralt trekked back to the tavern, alone, smelling of graveir guts. The people were a lot less welcoming than he had become accustomed to, and paid him with a handful of crowns and the promise of “ale on the house.” 

He got through four tankards before they rioted and kicked him out. 

Geralt couldn’t help but wonder why. He had just been sitting there, in the corner, probably with his expression Jaskier liked to call “brooding.” 

He had barely taken two steps out of the tavern when music rose from inside. 

Geralt’s heart slowed, and he could almost hear it break. 

It was not Jaskier, he knew. Jaskier would have made a scene if Geralt walked into a tavern he was in, and besides, Geralt knew enough about music to know that whoever was playing now was not nearly as skilled as Jaskier was. 

And yet Geralt was still frozen in place, on the front stoop of a tavern in god-knows-where, listening to echoes from before he’d gone and fucked it all up. 

The musician began to sing, and Geralt couldn’t breathe. 

“ _ The fairer sex, they often call it _

_ But her love's as unfair as a crook _ ”

Geralt had heard this song before. Hell, he’d heard Jaskier sing it before: he had written it, after all. 

“ _ A storm breaking on the horizon _

_ Of longing and heartache and lust _

_ She's always bad news _

_ It's always lose, lose _

_ So tell me love, tell me love _

_ How is that just? _ ”

Geralt found himself mouthing along with the words, listening to them, really listening, for the first time. Music before Jaskier was just something to be heard, occasionally enjoyed, but nothing more than idle entertainment. Music with Jaskier was a means to an end, a way to incite people into the kind of jolly fervor that motivated them to pay up enough for a room at an inn. 

Music after Jaskier, though? It was different, and better, and somehow so heartbreakingly worse. 

“ _ Her current is pulling you closer _

_ And charging the hot, humid night _

_ The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool _

_ Better stay out of sight _ ”

The man singing did not have the inflection Jaskier did, but the words still bit into Geralt’s skin and burrowed into his head. 

“ _ I'm weak my love, and I am wanting _ ” 

Geralt cocked his head, confused. That line sounded different, sounded… 

Oh. 

Oh, god. 

Oh no. 

Geralt was no musician himself, but he could tell the difference between reciting lyrics and really truly singing them. 

Unfortunately, the man inside was simply reciting. 

Also unfortunately, Geralt had a dawning realization. Jaskier was passionate, sure. He always really truly sang the words to his songs. 

Geralt, however, emotionally constipated man that he was, had just never realized  _ why _ . 

He remembered the first time Jaskier had ever sung that song. The mood in the tavern was somber, and by the time he had finished, a couple of the really drunk patrons were crying. 

He had done his usual 360º performance, tapping his feet to the tune, establishing himself as the center stage, the man you should be looking at. 

But when he had sung that line,  _ that line _ , he had looked Geralt straight in the eye, and his voice had  _ cracked _ . 

“I’m  _ weak _ , my love, and I am  _ wanting _ .” Geralt could practically see Jaskier now, his cocky wink, his ridiculous(ly flattering, who was he kidding) doublets, staring him in the eye and practically getting down on one knee for all to see. 

Geralt was not made to love. 

Hell, Geralt was not made to be  _ in _ love. 

But maybe who we are made to be is not who we are, because Geralt, right then, right there, had to lean against the tavern’s wall and catch his breath. 

Because  _ fuck _ , Jaskier loved him. 

And  _ double fuck _ … 

It took him several minutes to think the thought, and even longer to wrap his mind around it, but it was true. 

He was in love. With Jaskier. 

Fuck. 

The man inside the tavern finished the song, Jaskier’s song, with an extra strum of his instrument. 

“ _ The story is this _

_ She'll destroy with her sweet kiss. _ ” 

There was a smattering of applause, the sound of a few coins bouncing from hand to table. 

Geralt found himself turning around and storming back into the tavern before he knew what he was doing. 

He sat down at a barstool and raised a hand. “As much ale as is on the house, please.” 

The barmaid stared at him, then at the rows of empty tankards on the counter in front of her. She filled one up and passed it to Geralt, looking absolutely terrified. 

“Thanks.” 

The barmaid nodded and scampered away. 

Nine tankards later, Geralt knew what he had to do. 

  
  



	2. a thousand years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt follows Jaskier’s songs to a town not far from Oxenfurt, where the bard himself has settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter! i wrote it a lot faster than i thought i would, so forgive me if there are any typos

It took Geralt half a year to find his first lead. 

A new song, threaded with unmistakable Jaskier-ish touches. 

At first, Geralt was surprised that Jaskier was still writing, since he didn’t have any new material from their “adventures.” Turned out, Jaskier didn’t need any. 

He was too classy a bard to make up stories, so Jaskier took from what he knew and had not yet written. Lyrics raw with emotion twisted in with tunes that shouldn’t be able to come from one small lute, and yet. 

Geralt tracked the song to a town not far from Oxenfurt. He could, of course, just wait for Jaskier to arrive in the winter, but selfishly, he didn’t want to miss Kaer Morhen. 

People generally tended to answer all of Geralt’s questions, however gruff, and then run away right after. It was in this way that Geralt made his way around the Continent, tracking his bard by his songs. 

Geralt caught up with Jaskier in a town he had never been in before. Usually, in new places, (or just places in general,) people shied away from him, kept their distance. In this town, though, nobody gave him a second glance, and he was pushed around in marketplace crowds like everyone else. 

He first caught sight of Jaskier walking out of an apothecary. 

Jaskier looked the same as ever. He had a new doublet, and what appeared to be a new bag, but his lute was still slung over his shoulder, looking brand-new. 

Geralt opened his mouth to call out to him, but his voice caught in his throat. 

He remembered the words he’d said on the mountain. The hollow heartbreak scrawled across Jaskier’s face. 

Suddenly, Geralt felt a bit sick. 

There was no way Jaskier would ever, could ever, take him back or forgive him after what he had done. 

Geralt paid for Roach to stay in a stable, but he camped in the forest that night. He didn’t want to risk running into Jaskier at the inn. 

Jaskier seemed to have settled in this town. He spent most nights in the tavern, performing; old classics, “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher,” and new songs, too, songs that Geralt had never heard. 

Most days, Jaskier wandered. He came in and out of shops, weaved around marketplace stalls. Said “hello” to nearly everybody, and most said “hi” back. There were a few, of course, that Jaskier had to duck and hide from, as was Jaskier’s way. 

Geralt watched him from the shadows, running scenarios in his head. 

_ Stumble into him, apologize, realize it’s him, apologize for everything. No, that’s an awful plan.  _

_ Meet him at the tavern, toss him a coin. He’ll probably make a joke about how he’s supposed to be tossing the coins to me, since I’m the witcher, and then never speak to me again. Also a terrible plan. _

_ Wait for him at the inn? _ Geralt scrapped that idea the moment he thought of it. 

As it turns out, Jaskier was more perceptive than Geralt thought. 

It was day five of Geralt’s watch-totally-not-creepily-from-the-shadows-and-come-up-with-a-plan plan, and he was doing what he usually did, which is to say he was watching Jaskier from the shadows and holding an internal debate. 

Until, all of a sudden, he lost sight of Jaskier. 

For a moment, Geralt, still hidden in the shadows of an alleyway, panicked.  _ What if he’s been taken, or he’s trapped somewhere, or he’s left and I’ve lost him forever? _

He froze. There was someone standing behind him. He smelled a blade. 

“I know you’ve been following me,” a familiar, unusually cool voice said. Geralt couldn’t smell any fear, but he could smell Jaskier. “Turn around, reveal yourself, and we can go our separate ways, no harm done.” 

Geralt raised his hands in surrender, and he heard the blade clatter to the floor. 

“No,” Jaskier breathed. “No, no. No. There’s no fucking way.” 

Geralt, arms still raised, slowly turned around. He was careful to keep his expression blank. 

“Geralt, what the  _ fuck _ ?” Jaskier dropped his arms to his sides and fell silent. 

Geralt blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Jaskier this… taken aback, before. 

He could see that his window was closing. “Jaskier, I’m…” He sighed, shook his head, took a step back. “I’m so…” 

The words caught in his throat, as he looked at Jaskier, face to face for the first time in a year. Geralt had forgotten how  _ blue _ Jaskier’s eyes were, and he couldn’t think straight. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” Geralt said finally, and the words spilled out of him in a rush. “I’m so, so, so, sorry, Jaskier, I was… I was wrong, utterly and completely, and that’s all there is to it, and I’m… I’m so sorry, and I understand if you can’t forgive me, but just know…”

Jaskier broke into a grin and leapt forward, wrapping Geralt in a hug. “Of course I forgive you, Geralt,” he said into Geralt’s shoulder. “Duh.” 

Geralt felt himself smile. He lowered his arms and returned the hug, pressing his forehead onto the top of Jaskier’s head. “I…” 

“You don’t have to,” Jaskier said quietly, leaning back and looking up at Geralt. “I know.” 

“No, I have to,” Geralt said hoarsely, and Jaskier nodded. 

“Okay.” 

“I…” Geralt took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I love you.” 

Silence. 

Geralt slowly opened his eyes, one part relieved and three parts terrified. 

Jaskier was the brightest shade of pink Geralt had ever seen, and he was grinning so wide Geralt feared his face might split in two. 

“I love you, too,” Jaskier said smoothly, as though he’d said it a million times before. “I love you, Geralt, and I… I missed you. I’m glad you found me.” 

Heat flooded Geralt’s cheeks. “Me… too?” 

Jaskier laughed. “And there’s the Geralt we all know and love.” 

Geralt looked at Jaskier, and Jaskier looked at Geralt, and Geralt realized that Jaskier had stopped laughing. 

“Geralt…?” 

They crashed together, Geralt and Jaskier, arms around each other, intertwined. Geralt pushed Jaskier up against the alley wall, and for a moment it might have gone further, but somewhere to their right, Geralt heard someone cheer. 

“Ay! Jaskier found his witcher!” 

Geralt pulled back. He looked in the direction of the cheer, and sure enough, a small crowd had gathered. 

“It’s about time,” someone said cheerfully, and the little crowd giggled. “He’s been talking about you for—”

“Shh, Vizri!” Jaskier said, blushing even harder than before. “We made a deal!” He pushed himself up off the wall and made a shooing motion with his hands. “C’mon, guys!” 

The crowd dispersed. Several people waved as they left, and Jaskier waved back. 

He was still grinning. 

“Doesn’t your face hurt from… all that?” Geralt asked, gesturing to Jaskier’s smile. He was resolutely ignoring the fact that he was a bit of a hypocrite, as he, too, was smiling, though not nearly as wide as Jaskier. 

Jaskier chuckled and leaned his head on Geralt’s shoulder, lacing their hands together. “Geralt of Rivia. I have loved you for a thousand years.” 

“Certainly fucking feels like it,” Geralt murmured, glancing down at Jaskier and letting his smile grow. 

They wandered the town together, that day, hand in hand, and when night fell, Geralt didn’t bother renting his own room. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit to the amazing devil for the last bit of dialogue :D
> 
> thanks for reading! please comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
